


strawberries & salt

by inarizaki (xixuwus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Character Death, M/M, unspecified illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xixuwus/pseuds/inarizaki
Summary: everyday atsumu eats strawberries and salt.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47
Collections: AtsuHina Exchange





	strawberries & salt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haikyall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haikyall/gifts).



> this was my first exchange and was really fun to do!! i was given two prompts, but decided to go with the "Atsumu has a certain disease and he has to tell Hinata" prompt.
> 
> I had planned to make this more elaborate but i ran out of time; either way, i hope you like it!! <3
> 
> also thank you to my lovely beta reader [greeny!](https://twitter.com/greenywrites) give them a follow or a commission!

**i.**

moving day. stupid moving day—stupid because tsukishima and kageyama were too busy to help him; stupid because he’s got 12 boxes and a couch to haul up into his new third floor apartment; stupid because he had to call a random guy from his biology class to help in his hour of need—but the guy said yes so maybe today isn’t that stupid after all. 

“i hope ya don’t mind. i brought my brother to help. he’s a weak bitch, but he can carry the lighter stuff,” osamu says when they arrive at hinata’s apartment. 

atsumu stomps his foot and shoves osamu with his shoulder. “i can carry shit just fine. don’t mind him— _ he’s  _ the real bitch.” 

hinata has never met brothers, much less twins. tsukishima’s brother didn’t count—they were years apart and akiteru was much more mature and had different interests from kei. but these two were twins—same age, same blood, same everything, right down to the abrasive temperament and competitive spirit, shitty personality, and raw wit. at least they were both strong. 

“thanks, guys. i don’t have that many boxes left, but i do have a couch that we have to haul up three flights of stairs.” 

“yer place didn’t come with a couch?” osamu asks, placing a box full of cooking ware in the kitchen. 

“well it was an apartment near campus with no couch or an apartment two hours away and twice as much rent, so you do the math. plus, bokuto-san was giving away a free couch.” 

“don’t worry about it, shouyou—we’re strong. we’ll have it up in no time!” atsumu boasts. 

his hubris will be the death of him. after a long and hushed argument with atsumu (“are ya sure you can carry it?” “yes, i’m sure! i’m not that weak, osamu.” “i’m just making sure. i can skip class if ya need me to.” “god, just go to class. you have an exam. i’ll be fine.”), osamu finally leaves the couch hauling to hinata and atsumu.

“you guys okay?” hinata asks, stepping up the stairs backwards slowly. “you seemed tense while you were talking.” 

“we’re fine,” atsumu groans, fingers slipping on the frame for a moment before he catches it. “he just didn’t want to leave us with the couch alone.” 

after pulling the legs off and nearly ripping the underframe to fit it through the doorway, they finally get the couch inside, dropping it onto the floor in the center of the living room. 

atsumu collapses on the cushionless couch, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. he closes his eyes, and hinata figures he just needs a chance to breathe. osamu once mentioned to him that he and atsumu used to be great volleyball players. he never said why they quit. how could a volleyball player become so winded after only carrying a couch? granted it was up three flights of stairs, but perhaps he wasn’t used to physical activity anymore. suddenly, atsumu sits up abruptly, eyes wide and coughing.

hinata frowns and drops the pans he had been putting away. “hey, you okay? do you need some water?” 

atsumu shakes his head, waving a weak hand at him as he rolls off the couch. panicked, hinata runs over to atsumu, trying to get atsumu to sit up. atsumu flings his arms around hinata’s neck, the top of his head resting against his shoulder as he forces hinata to just stay still, half kneeling, half standing. his thighs start to burn after the 45 second mark, but atsumu’s breathing isn’t getting any better and hinata’s phone is still in the kitchen.

“atsumu, let me call an ambulance or your brother,” he says. he tries to coax atsumu into letting him go, but his grip on his shoulder only tightens. 

“d-don’t. i’m fine,” he wheezes. another few minutes go by in lung-squeezing silence before atsumu finally lets go of hinata’s shoulder, slumps against the couch and swallows dry air around his thick tongue. 

“are you okay now? do you… need water or medicine?” hinata asks, unwilling to leave atsumu’s side.

“i’m fine. water would be good. and grab my bag.” 

hinata rushes to the kitchen to get a glass of water and atsumu’s bag, nearly tripping over his feet to deliver him the goods. atsumu takes a sip of water and then unzips his bag, takes out a container of strawberries. 

“what’re those for?” hinata asks.

“it’s a housewarming gift,” he says. “congrats on moving in.” 

**ii.**

a beach date. a secret beach date—secret because he forgot to tell atsumu it was at the beach; secret because atsumu never specified this was a date. 

hinata stands by the pier in shorts and a tank top, the breeze of the ocean leaving specks of salt and sand on his cheeks. he fidgets with his phone, rereading his messages and trying to decipher whether atsumu’s “hanging out” meant “bring me some roses and hold my hand as we get a nice dinner by the water” or “i’m gonna shove sand down your shorts and laugh as you try to brush it out of your ass crack.” 

either way, he should’ve dressed a little nicer, especially when he sees that atsumu’s shown up in a collared shirt and nice beach shorts. 

“i shoulda dressed down,” atsumu says. 

“no, you look great! i should’ve dressed better for this—” this… outing? hang out? date? “this weather.” 

_ oh, good save.  _

they have dinner on the pier, eating peeled shrimp and street snacks from the carts and stalls lining the pier. afterwards hinata drags atsumu onto the beach, barefoot with sand between their toes. hinata says something about being a fast runner, and atsumu challenges him. it ends with hinata tackling atsumu to the ground, the cast of the setting sun’s warm orange glow on atsumu’s face. 

“i don’t really like the beach, by the way,” atsumu confesses. “but i had a great time with you today.” 

hinata smiles, helping atsumu to his feet. “well, i thought the beach would be nice for a date, but i don’t think we ever clarified. is this a date or am i reading too much into this?”

atsumu brushes the sand off of his shorts; his cheeks are pink. “it’s whatever you want it to be, but… i’d like to think it is.” 

hinata smiles, but before he can say anything, atsumu suddenly stumbles, clutching his chest as he struggles to breathe. hinata panics, and a couple who were jogging come over to help them. they call an ambulance. hinata rides with atsumu to the hospital as he texts osamu.

hinata decides not to count this as a date because he’d hate for 20 years down the road, someone asks him how his first date with atsumu went and he has to tell them that they ended up at the hospital. then again, it might make a fun story. 

~~ (osamu did not laugh when they told him.)  ~~

later, osamu tells hinata that atsumu is sick. he has been for a long time. he was never supposed to make it past childhood. 

**iii.**

a movie date. this time it’s real for sure—real because hinata clarified with atsumu the moment he suggested a movie; real because atsumu brought wine and gummy worms, and if that doesn’t scream romantic then the horror film that atsumu chose should. 

“my plan backfired,” atsumu admits halfway through the movie. “i thought you’d at least get scared and cuddle into my arm or something.” 

hinata laughs, trying to be discreet as he leans a little bit more into atsumu’s side. “i went to the same school as tsukishima and kageyama. nothing’s scarier than those two, to be honest.” 

“kageyama—he’s the one in yer history class, right? the one who always helps ya with yer notes.” 

“his handwriting is shit.” 

atsumu laughs and spills popcorn into hinata’s lap. they shift again and hinata takes the chance to lean his head against atsumu’s shoulder. 

“hey,” hinata says.

“hey,” atsumu mimics.

“not that this movie is boring or anything, but can we make out?” 

atsumu chokes on his popcorn, sputtering as he sits up, turning to face hinata. “dude, what the fuck.” 

hinata sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. “never mind, we can’t make out now. you called me dude.” 

“wait no—” atsumu sets the popcorn down on the floor (because hinata hasn’t gotten a table yet) and leans toward hinata. “i wanna make out, let’s make out.”

“oh, now you sound a little desperate, atsumu,” hinata teases despite wrapping his arms around atsumu’s waist and pulling him closer. 

atsumu whines, and hinata giggles, leaning forward and giving him a soft, chaste kiss. they both sigh, the same first kiss tension, the same thrum of excitement. hinata rubs the tops of atsumu’s thighs, squeezing the thick muscle and marveling at how strong they must be. atsumu leans forward again, and hinata meets him eagerly. he swipes his tongue over atsumu’s bottom lip, nips at him for a moment before tasting the inside of his mouth. 

hinata pulls away first, breathless. “you taste like butter,” he laughs, but atsumu is sniffling. 

is he crying?

hinata takes atsumu’s face in his hands. “hey, what’s wrong? are you okay? did i do something wrong?” 

atsumu shakes his head, rubbing at his cheeks. “no, it’s nothin’.” 

“do you want to stop?”

“no. i just…” 

hinata waits patiently, not moving, not breathing, waiting until atsumu wipes away his stray tears. “sorry,” he mutters. “it’s just… when ya kissed me, i… i  _ tasted  _ you, and i got overwhelmed. it made me happy.” 

the smile on hinata’s lips could crack his face in two. “what do i taste like?” he asks, petting atsumu’s thighs. 

“like… really subtle corn… and salt.” 

hinata laughs and hugs atsumu’s middle tightly, shifting closer to pull atsumu into his lap. “well, we were eating popcorn. subtle corn almost sounds like a cute nickname, like cutie pie or something.” 

atsumu laughs and runs his fingers through hinata’s hair. “i’ll make that yer new contact name in my phone.” 

before hinata can say anything else, atsumu’s mouth is on his, desperate, like this is his last cup of water, like this is his dying breath (with the way he’s shaking, hinata thinks it really might be). 

**iv.**

a funeral date. it’s a date because hinata dressed in his best suit and did his hair up, even brought a pack of strawberries as a gift; funeral because osamu is standing next to him with red-rimmed eyes and a quivering lip; funeral because atsumu is six feet under and hinata wants to crawl under the dirt to hold him one last time. 

“fuckin’ unfair,” osamu mutters, the heels of his palms pressing against his eyes again and again to wipe away tears that refuse to stop falling. 

“i’m sorry,” hinata whispers. he feels like he should stay quiet—like the dead. 

“i knew it was comin’—i just… i didn’t think it’d be soon, or like this.” 

like this. atsumu had been chronically ill for years—in and out of the hospital, on various different medicines and through countless treatments. family members every holiday asked if atsumu was ever going to have a normal life (he did; he had a great life). friends would come and go, not invested enough to stick around.

hinata was sure atsumu would make it. he had a strong body and a strong heart, but not strong enough to withstand an SUV barrelling down the road at 96 kilometers per hour. 

“he was gettin’ better. doctor said he thought… he thought he was really healin’—looked better than he did in years. m-mom even said he was… he was e-eatin’ better.” 

the worst thing about osamu is the fact that he would always interrupt atsumu and hinata during sex. 

the second worst thing about osamu is the fact that he shares a face with his now deceased twin. 

watching him cry is like watching an alternate version of atsumu sobbing his heart out in the dirt and clutching his chest, like osamu is the one who got his rib cage smashed in and not his brother’s. the scene reminds hinata of the time atsumu’s lungs nearly gave out—they were just laying together, watching a movie. suddenly, atsumu couldn’t breathe. hinata couldn’t do anything but hold him as they waited for his medicine to kick in (if it did; he counted the seconds before he heard atsumu breathing steady again, on his toes ready to sprint to the hospital if he didn’t stabilize). 

when osamu finally calms down, chin resting on hinata’s shoulder, he points at the abandoned strawberries. 

“did you bring it as an offering?” he asks.

“yeah,” hinata mutters, wondering if he should’ve also brought some salt. 

“that’s nice, but why’d you bring strawberries?” 

hinata frowns. “huh?”

“atsumu hates strawberries.” 

**v. (epilogue)**

atsumu hasn’t really sensed anything in these past few months. the ache in his bones weighs him further and further down into the dirt, and he’s honestly quite tired of fighting just to keep his joints moving. volleyball would’ve been his one chance to fly, but even that was taken from him after his bones gave out on a rough match (knees buckled, lungs collapsed; they had to rush him to the hospital, and his parents cried). 

atsumu quit volleyball the next day, and subsequently, so did osamu. 

“atsumu!” 

the color amber-gold with a hint of citrus rind floods his mouth when he hears his name. hinata has a way of filling his bones with molten sun. 

“shouyou, what’re ya doing here?” he says as hinata invites himself to sit with atsumu. 

“i was on my way to class, but i saw you, so i wanted to stop and talk. you’re eating these things again?” he laughs, pointing at the strawberries and salt on the table. 

“haha, yeah. they’re my favorite,” he says. they’re not his favorite. osamu refuses to buy atsumu any junk food these days and keeps hiding away all the good snacks, so atsumu’s only left with fresh fruits. one of the new neighborhood ladies that really likes the twins (and pities atsumu’s situation) keeps giving osamu strawberries every week (“for your sick brother”), so they have no choice but to eat them by the buckets.

the salt—well, that was just an honest mistake. he meant to grab the sugar, but it’s not his fault that they look exactly the same. osamu refuses to label them. atsumu thinks it’s on purpose. 

“let me try one,” hinata says, reaching over for a strawberry and dipping it into what he thinks is sugar.

it’s not very good, atsumu wants to say, but he wants to see hinata’s face scrunch up in disgust more, and hinata doesn’t disappoint. his eyes bulge for a second before his entire face wrinkles like one of those hairless cats. he sticks his tongue out and grabs his water bottle, chugging it before exclaiming, “what the fuck. is that salt?” 

atsumu can’t help but laugh. “yeah, what’s it taste like?” 

“awful, sour. do you really like that?” 

atsumu rests his elbow on the table, chin in his hand. “to be honest, i lost most of my sense of taste because of my illness. i can’t really tell what it tastes like. when i was young, osamu and i used to eat strawberries and sugar, but i keep mixin’ up the sugar and the salt. i still like the texture though.” 

hinata’s face drops, and atsumu gets ready to put his guard up. this is usually around the time people start pitying him for not tasting things, start giving him condolences as if a part of him died. 

“it’s not the worst thing i’ve ever eaten,” hinata says, lips pursed.

atsumu laughs. “you looked like you were gonna die, ya liar.” 

“your cooking is worse,” hinata rebuts, taking a second try at the strawberry-salt combination. 

“no way, my cooking is awesome. i cooked for our six-month anniversary.”

“i didn’t want to say at the time, but i know osamu cooked that dinner.” 

“it was all me! osamu had nothing to do with it.” osamu had everything to do with it. 

“just admit it,” hinata teases, dipping a strawberry and putting it to atsumu’s lips.

atsumu smiles, grabbing the strawberry from hinata. his tongue swipes out to clean up the specks of salt sticking to his lips. 

“over my dead body.” 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/xixuwus)


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